PLEASE, CONTINUE
by inim
Summary: A sequel to the Harry Potter Series explaining what happened after. Narrated by a girl from the USA, who moves to London and is quickly caught up in the Wizarding World. Main character is an OC
1. Chapter 1

**a/n: For old readers, same story, but I will be posting longer chapters from now on (kind of like a novel), so I thought I would compile some of the chapters into one big one. Thanks for reading, even with the bumpy start. Please leave reviews with your thoughts!**

 **For new readers, welcome to Please, Continue! Hope you enjoy the ride**

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CHAPTER ONE

Life was changing rapidly for me. School had just ended (for the year) but I wasn't coming back at all. Which was terrifying, as I was moving to England for the rest of my teenage life. The scariest part was that I didn't know where I was going. My family had sent out all the applications and I had taken all the tests, but nothing had come in return, not even a rejection letter. Some part of me was hoping I hadn't gotten into any schools, and could leave England and come back to New York, where I lived currently. It wasn't totally impossible, after all, England had the top boarding schools. In addition, I had ADHD when it came to school.

I checked the mail box in front of the house for any letter from a school at 9:00, after I had stopped crying about my situation, but there was nothing except for a couple vouchers for a cruise in Jamaica.

10:30 I watched 4 episodes of The Office. One more season left

11:50 I crawled into bed

12:00 An owl flew by my open window. This was normal, of course, as there were a lot of owls in Upstate. I rolled over and pulled the covers up over my shoulders with a few tentative fingers. My fear of ghosts and spirits had lasted since my early childhood, and the owl hadn't helped. I screamed, then, when something limp-sounding landed with a wet slap on to my floorboards. I twisted in my bed, careful to keep all my limbs from crossing over the edge of the mattress, and stared at the are of the floor where the noise had come from, helpfully illuminated by the full moon. There was a wet letter lying on the wood, near my bed, grey and speckled with brown in places, like an eggshell. I darted from my bed and grabbed it, feeling it squish in my hand, then leaped back into the sheets. I pulled the switch to the small red crane-style lamp next to my bed, uncrumpled it, and flattened it out over my bare knee. In green ink, slightly blurred by water stains, was written:

 _Caroline Madson, the bedroom looking out onto West Cempton Street._

I froze and stared at the scripted words, then sighed. It was probably a prank from a neighbor. I glared at the wall, hoping my annoyance would ooze through the plaster and into the next house. Still, I opened the letter, tearing the damp paper with ease, but the letters were too blurred to make out anything. Sighing, I threw the letter into the garbage of my room and didn't think any more of it.

Summer passed by uneventfully. I finished The Office, of course, along with The Mindy Project and 30 Rock, and felt disgusting and disappointed in myself after I was done. And then moving day came, finally. And that's when everything started.

* * *

The plane smelled like sick and dentists offices, and there was a faint scent of fast food lingering on the seats. It had a nauseating effect overall. I had a window seat, near the back, which of course is where all the children sit. There was a baby screaming at the top of its lungs behind me, it's face scrunched up so tightly that he looked like a squeezed tomato. I pressed the cranked the volume of my headphones until it was dangerous then looked out the dirty glass of the window. There were a couple of men below, in fluorescent orange vests, loading our luggage onto the plane. I sat up to look for my duffle, but it was already stowed away. The safety message came on, then, and the baby started to howl from the noise, spittle trickling down it's front and clinging there. I groaned and pressed my cheek against the glass.

We had been in the air for about twenty minutes when the strange things started happening. There was a loud thunk on my window, right next to my cheek, and I started, one of my ear buds falling out. There was an owl, impossibly fast, bouncing into the window, it's dirty feathers streaking brown across the pane. I screamed so loudly that the baby, who had been napping for ten minutes, started over again at the top of it's lungs, causing the entire plane to turn and glare at me. I pressed my head into the back of the scratchy upholstery, staring at the large owl. It was tiring from flight, I could tell, but it had been noticed by the people around me. The old man to my left, who hadn't taken his eyes off of his cheeseburger since landing, was nudging me hard with his elbows and saying, "Would ya look at that. A great grey, that is," and chuckling breathily.

The owl was carrying something, I realized, in it's claws, a letter, but the subject of it was out of my vision. Suddenly, as if reading my thoughts, the owl flung the letter onto the window and fell back, disappearing into the clouds. The letter only stayed for a moment on the glass, being held there by the wind, but it was enough for me to read:

 _Caroline Madson, window seat 24 F._

I shrieked again, then quickly uncrumpled the ticket in my jeans pocket and checked my seat. 24F. I pressed my fingers to the glass, shoving my forehead against the window and looking out behind the plane, but there was nothing there. The clouds had swallowed the letter already. I looked for my parents, but they were near the front of the plane in separate seats, and I didn't want to climb over the man (who had resumed eating) next to me. The longer I sat, the more I realized that I hadn't had enough sleep the previous night and was probably imagining the whole letter. The script had been identical, though to the one on the letter that had been thrown into my room so many weeks before. But I could have been dreaming then, also. I rubbed my face, smelling the airplane on my fingers, then closed my eyes, letting the plane rock me to sleep.

The baby screamed so loudly that I woke up with a start, making me gag as my seatbelt stretched uncomfortably over my stomach. My mouth tasted like an animal had just died in it, and my ears were screaming in pain, so much so that tears were springing to my eyes. I yawned, loud and forced, to pop my ears, then checked the time on the screen in front of me. I had slept for five hours, leaving two hours left on the plane. I looked across the aisle for my parents, but a stewardess blocked my vision, her overly done-up face smiling painfully.

"Would you like some complimentary lunch?" She asked, stressing _complimentary_. I looked at the man next to me, but he was fast asleep, his head lolling slightly. I sighed.

"What do you have?"

"Excuse me?" she smiled, her lips stretched uncomfortably, as the baby let out a piercing wail that made the old man shake his head.

"What do you have," I repeated, careful not to breath too much in her face.

"Mushroom cream sauce with egg noodles or a bell pepper chicken sandwich! They're both very delicious," she said, holding the two meals far out in front of her body. " _Jokes_ " I thought. The two containers looked even more unappetizing under the yellow light.

"Mushroom pasta, please," I muttered, clamping my lips shut as soon as I stopped speaking. I didn't have any gum, and my breath was bad enough to kill the entire plane. She handed me the meal then kept going down the aisle, her tight smile still pasted on her face. I opened the plastic lid of the meal, choking at the smell, and pulled took out the napkin that was covering the food. I stopped, as soon as it lifted, shocked. Underneath the napkin, on top of the utensils, was a letter identical to the one that I had seen on the window. I quickly pulled it out, using my fingertips in case in had food on it, and tore it open. On creamy, thick paper, was written:

 _HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

 _Dear Miss Madson,_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

 _Term begins on 1 September. We understand that you are a special circumstance; all complications will be taken care of by your guardian for the magical world, George Weasley._

 _Yours Sincerely,_

 _Cho Chang_

 _Deputy Headmistress_

I stared, dumbfounded, at the letter, then quickly skimmed over the list of books and equipment. I laughed at the script: Wand, robes, cauldrons. The stewardess was coming back down the aisle, and I waved my hand at her, my mouth open in preparation for all the questions I had. She smiled at me, then pulled out a slender wooden stick and muttered something. My uneaten lunch lifted off my tray table, scattering the torn-up letter all over my lap, and then zoomed towards her, unattached to anything else. As she caught it, she winked, and then walked away, leaving me staring open-mouthed after her.

We had just touched down, and already the windows had grown clammy and misted from the dreary English weather. I, meanwhile, had been checking the seats and aisle for hidden strings and magnets, and trying in vain to get the stewardess' attention as she walked past. My parents were waiting for me as I walked out of the airplane, watching me as I nodded shyly at the pilot as he bid me farewell. I ran towards them as soon as I got close and shoved the letter into their outstretched arms.

"Guys there was this owl that was flying next to my window and it threw this letter at the window but not this letter, another letter but it fell into the clouds and I couldn't see it but the owl was ACTUALLY FLYING WITH THE PLANE and then I got lunch and this letter was under my napkin and it has my seat number and everything and it knows my name and it looks just like a letter I got on last day but that one said where we lived and then," I paused, out of breath, then continued, "the stewardess that gave me lunch gave me this huge wink and took like a magic wand out and said something but I couldn't hear it and then my lunch started FLOATING."

"...what?" said my dad, rubbing his eyes.

"You just need some rest," my mother said, laying her hand on my rats nest of hair. "Luke, have you called the car? Our bags are waiting in the baggage claim area. Go outside and wait for the taxi, Caro and I will go get the luggage." She handed the letter back to me, not even looking at it. "It was probably a prank, honey. You're probably just so excited to start our new life here!" she laughed, already walking ahead. I turned to my dad.

"Do you believe me?"

"Come on, Care-Bear, floating airplane food and owls? You're a funny kid, but sometimes your jokes don't make sense. Is this one of these new pop-culture things?" I groaned and pulled at the sleeve of his button-down, forcing him to a stop.

"I swear it happened! Look at this letter!" I pushed it up to his face, and his nose wrinkled. He pushed it back down towards me with a firm hand and looked around with an expression stating: _can you believe this kid?_

"Let's go get our stuff, and after maybe we can explore London. Sound good?" he asked, hitching his backpack over his shoulders and starting up the ramp.

"It happened," I muttered, shoving the letter into my back pocket and racing to catch up with them.

I stayed silent for the entire trip home until we got to the apartment. It was nice, with two floors and a loft (which I immediately claimed as my own). The loft had a wooden ladder leading up to it. The roof of the townhouse made up my room's ceiling, leaving a slanted, dusty look to the room. A singular, floor to roof window faced out onto the street, displaying the rainy and dismal streets of Britain below. The actual room was bare besides my mattress, as we hadn't brought any of our old furniture along with us. I immediately fell onto the makeshift bed, the dust swirling up around me like a sandstorm, and began to examine the letter.

 _Who was George Weasley?_

I rolled over, releasing another cloud of dust. The green ink was shining impossibly bright, illuminating the words _WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY._ I had just started to mouth them when the doorbell rang, a harsh, sharp sound that resounded throughout the entire house. I crept down the ladder, keeping the letter in one hand, and then padded down the varnished stairs to the hallway. My mother was already there, looking confused.

"Your father didn't call the movers yet, did he?" she asked, her hand hovering over the doorknob. I shrugged. The doorbell rang again, and my mother jumped, and then opened the door. On the doorstep was a man, late into his thirties or early forties, wearing a large green pea coat over a silk pinstriped purple suit and black dress shoes. He had a cocky, face-crossing grin, and a shock of red hair only further illuminated by the bleak outside. The freckles crossing his face were uncountable, and the brown eyes that were so crinkled at the edges from laughter held a sort of sadness to them. He surveyed the threshold with these same eyes, until his gaze fell upon me. He grinned toothily, then stuck out a freckled hand.

"George Weasley, pleased to meet you."

* * *

I stared, mouth agape, at him. His outfit was so bizarre and clashing so horribly with his hair. My mother was staring at him too, her eyes and mouth three large holes in her head.

"Well," he said, putting his hand in a silk pocket, "won't you let me in, then?" He had a British accent, which made me immediately jealous. My mother stared at him for one more second, then closed her mouth and spoke.

"I'm sorry, but do we know you?"

"I dare say your daughter does," he said, gesturing with a hand to the letter I was clutching. My mother turned to me, a questioning look in her eyes.

"I don't know him, Mom, his name is just on the letter I tried to show you before." I muttered, smoothing the letter out onto my palm.

"But that was a joke letter!" She cried, looking back at the man, or George. "How do you know my daughter?"

"I see we have much explaining to do. Ah well, best get on with it. Call your father," he grinned, addressing me with a wink and stepping into our new house. I called my dad and we all went into the new living room, which had no sofa but a couple ornamental pillows strewn about. George immediately pulled one out to sit on and began eating a purple toffee I had never seen before. I stared at him.

"Want one?" he asked, holding out a gold-velvet bag to me, bulging with other toffees. I shook my head. He sighed and put the bag back in his vest pocket. "Well, I trust you have seen the letter Caroline received on the plane?" _how did he know my name?_ I looked at my dad. It was clear he was thinking the same thing. He cleared his throat.

"Look, sir, I don't know who you are but if this is a scam, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave," my Dad said, his adams apple bobbing. George turned pale for a second, but then his easy grin returned.

"No sir, not a scam," he chuckled, pulling out a stick similar to the one that the stewardess on the plane was carrying. "Perhaps I'll show you." He muttered something and the pillows in the room (besides the one he was sitting on) flipped up on their ends and started to jump around in the most peculiar fashion. We all shrieked and cowered away from the pillows.

"What are you doing?" cried my dad, tentatively pushing a fringed red cushion out of his face.

"Magic!" exclaimed George, then seeing the look on our faces, stopped doing jazz hands. "You see, magic had been in the world for as long as you muggles, or ordinary humans have been in the world. Mine and Caro's kind," I jumped, and so did my parents "have been in hiding due to the great witch hunts back in the day. It has been all around you your entire life, I promise. Caro, here, has been able to do magic her whole life, but has never had the right tools to accomplish it." He waved his wand, sending a shower of sparks that caused my mom to shriek. "Now that she is in England, she had been invited to go to the best magical school in all of Britain, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! That is, of course, what the letter meant. I am to be her guardian for the magical world, she will stay with me and my family until term starts, which is in three weeks." He winked at me with this. I was so shocked by what he had just said I couldn't even react. _Magic? What on earth?_ My dad was repeatedly opening his mouth, and then closing it, like a fish. Suddenly he jerked his head up and looked sharply at George. George flinched.

"My daughter is like you? She can do... do this?" he asked, gesturing at the twirling pillows.

"Quite right!" George grinned, adjusting his suit lapels. My dad suddenly stood up, his eyes bright like fire.

"I knew it! I knew magic existed! Ever since I was a little boy... I would see it everywhere! Caro will definitely go," Slowly he paused, looking at me. I grinned at him, confused. "Isn't a little late to go to magical school? She's fourteen," he asked George. My mom had stood up too. She looked excited, but wary.

"Hogwarts will take her. She will just be transferring in. She's only missed two years, anyway." My stomach twisted into a knot. I hated meeting new people. A small cough sounded from my mom. We all turned to look at her. She blushed.

"Could you... could you show us some more magic?" she blushed again, her entire face a bright tomato red. George grinned.

"Of course, anything you like." He waved his wand. The walls, which had been painted a dull, horrid brown, suddenly turned white and small, blue, Chinese-like painted flowers started blooming across the surface. The floors shined like they had just been waxed, and the pillows stopped dancing. They arranged themselves into a brightly colored carpet covered in beautiful mirror shards and fringe, then flattened themselves and sank into the floor. We stared, awestruck, as the last flower unfolded itself on the wall.

"Will...will Caro be able to do that?" My father asked, after the silence had stretched out for too long.

"You bet!" grinned George, twirling his wand. "Do you like the living room? Thought it would add a drop more color." My mother nodded, reaching out to touch the newly patterned walls with a tentative hand.

"Well, I must be off. It makes me so happy to hear that Caro will be joining the students at Hogwarts. I shall be here at noon tomorrow to take Caro out and show her around the Wizarding World! Best of luck to you all!" He flashed me a smile, and then with a spin of his heel, he was gone. My parents and I stared at the spot where he had last been standing.

It was hard to fall asleep that night.


	2. Chapter 2

**a/n: Chapter two! If you didn't read the author's note last chapter, and are confused, the two chapters just posted are a combination of all the chapters written so far. Chapters are going to be longer from now on, so I combined the previous chapters to give a sense of the new lengths. Thanks for supporting even with the confusing stuff! But always, review and PM me with any questions! Love you all**

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CHAPTER TWO

George swung by at 3 the next day to pick me up; this time he wore a red sweater and mauve pants, topped off with shiny burgundy loafers. I, on the other hand, was wearing my ripped jeans and a plain white t-shirt. I had spent the entire morning (from when I woke up at 11:00 to the time he arrived) looking for an outfit. _How do you even dress for a wizard? What if you are a wizard?_ Subsequently, my room was a mess, the suitcase with my clothes lying open in the middle of the floor with a small explosion of clothes circling it. I dressed simple, I guessed, but it was my favorite outfit, as it fit me well. I wore my most expensive sneakers, hoping that he would notice. _Is that something valued in their world?_

We'd been walking in pressing silence until he stopped and turned to me, a wide grin plastered all-over his face.

"Well! How did you take the information of you being a wizard? Or witch, if you may. Got no sleep, eh?" I self-consciously touched the huge bags under my eyes.

"It's just... do I have powers? I'm a witch? What does that mean? Can I do the thing you did with our pillows? How do you get a wand? What is wizarding school? How have I not noticed magic before! Where are all the wizards in my life; wait, are my parents wizards? Is my grandfather? What-"

"Slow down, mate. You're muggle born-" I opened my mouth with the question, but he held up a hand. "A muggle, as I am sure you were about to ask, is a non-magical person. Sorry blokes, they are," I stared at him, slightly offended. "Not that they're bad people- just that I feel mighty bad for them, you know? No magic. My dad has quite the obsession with them, because, after all, how do you survive?" I started to explain, but realized it was a rhetorical question and closed my mouth. He started to walk ahead, and I followed, the grey sky wrapping him in a soft fog. The air smelled like burnt rubber.

"We're going to Diagon Alley, which is the wizarding street where you'll get all the things on that list you got." He said, when I caught up to him. "Did you bring the list?" I held it up, and he grinned amiably.

"Where is Diagon Alley?" I asked, the new words hard and clunky on my tongue. We turned a corner, and he stopped walking, which made me dangerously close to crashing into him.

"Right here!" He announced, throwing his hand out and gesturing to a shabby looking pub. I stared at it, unconvinced. He grinned and pulled open the door of the pub, gesturing me through. It was dark and smoky inside, largely due to a man sitting at the bar smoking a pipe as long as his arm. As soon as George walked in, though, he got up and laughed,

"If it aint George, my boy. How's the family?" He had a greasy, dirty look, and a crooked smile, but his eyes were kind. George looked at him stiffly, then cracked a wary smile. "Hi, Mundungus. It's good, Angelina and I have two children now; Fred," he coughed, "and Roxanne."

"That's wonderful, laddy, truly is. And whose this young lady, eh? Let me get a look at ya," Mundungus laughed, beckoning towards me. I jumped. George noticed how uncomfortable I was and put his hand on my shoulder.

"Actually, Dung, we're just passing through. I'll see you around." Mundungus waved his hand at us dismissively and stuck his pipe back into his mouth, immediatley surrounding himself in a cloud of pungent smoke. George steered me to the back of the pub, and out the back door, nodding his head at a few of the locals as we went. I tugged on his sleeve.

"Who was that?" I asked, looking at Mundungus.

"Just someone I know from a long time ago." Muttered George stiffly, not looking back.

"Right," he said, after we stepped out the back, "look here." He pulled out a long stick. I realized it was a wand and moved closer, staring at it. He flourished the wand, gesturing towards the large brick wall behind the pub. George looked at it for a second, then tapped a few of the bricks in an intricate pattern. Immediately, the bricks started to fold back and twist into each other, grinding and creaking until they formed an archway. A bustling street lay behind the bricks, filled with gothic-looking shops and oddly dressed people, animals and merchandise pouring out of each door, and brightly colored smoke leaking out of the chimneys. I gasped, and George grinned.

"Welcome," he said, placing his wand back into his pocket, "to Diagon Alley."

* * *

I was still gaping as we walked along the street, staring especially when we passed by a shop selling _dragons_. I was astonished. When I asked George, however, he said dragons were normal, and that his brother had even worked with them before. I then started staring at him. We walked around the shops, looking at the brooms (which I knew I had to ride on someday), the potions, the books (I almost fainted when one of them started moving and _talking_ ), the self-writing quills (no pens or pencils, or even computers!), and many other things. My head was reeling, and my hand was smarting where a rather furry book had bitten me. The conversation had been sparse and awkward, due to the fact that my mouth was more often hanging open than actually talking. After leaving the book store, though, I decided to get to know him better, as he was my gaurdian. I tore my eyes away from a display of levitating eyeballs and tugged on his sleeve.

"What were you saying about your family, back in that bar-place?"

"You mean the Leaky Cauldron? Yeah, I'm married to Angelina Johnson. She kept her last name, you see, she was always a tough one to crack. We met when we were playing Quidditch together in old Hogwarts." He grinned ruefully until he noticed me staring. "Oh. Quidditch is our sport here in the magical world. You'll be playing some soon, I bet you. My families big on it, and we're all meeting at the old house before term starts. You'll play then. Plus, the place got bigger after the fire." My eyes grew wide.

"What fire?" I asked, looking allover him for burns. Suddenly, for the first time, my eyes caught sight of the chunk of his head noticeably missing an ear. He caught me staring and laughed.

"Oh, no, this hole wasn't from that fire. It was from the war!"

"The _WAR?_ " I gaped, staring at him. He didn't look like a soldier, and he definitely was too young to have been in any of the world wars. "Which one?"

"Not one that you've heard of. Maybe I'll explain it over lunch. Shall we?" He gestured to a large ice-cream parlor. Eager for more detail, I rushed in.

My head was still reeling with all the new information I had learned at lunch. I stared at George even after our meal (which consisted of solely ice-cream). He was famous, or at least his relatives were. And I was to meet them, and _Harry Potter_. It was a rather boring name, in my opinion, but apparently he was the greatest wizard ever. George suddenly tapped me on the shoulder, interrupting my thoughts.

"Would you like to go meet Ronald?" I nodded my head quickly. Was he a billionaire now? Or a mega-celebrity? I practically ran to keep up with George's long strides as he weaved through the bustling crowd. People were taking notice of my clothes, but not in the way that I had hoped. Almost everyone else, (besides the children my age) were wearing thick, cotton robes even though it was summer. It was bizzare, really, It was almost like walking into a giant slumber party where everyone was dressed for mourning in bathrobes. George stood out in his considerably loud outfit, like a tropical bird among ravens. I followed him up to a large building, so bright that I had to blink a couple times in order to see again. And then I missed a step up the stairs, I was so shocked.

The frame of the building was a neon orange, freshly painted and varnished, while the windows spanned and circled allover the surface. Through the glass there were rows upon rows of candy, dolls, potions, cauldrons, stationary, clothing, and even animals stacked up neatly on shelves. Hordes of children were clawing at the merchandise, tugging and laughing and tasting. I jumped as the window flashed; messages of light and fire and smoke drifted across the panes, briefly flashing with messages like:

 _Invisi-fizzy™; soda to get you out of those awkward situations!_

And

 _RapunzelTruffles™; for when your hair-dresser takes a little too much off the top!_

and finally

 _DoubleBubble™; Gum for people who need to be in two places at once:)_

I stared at the last sign, then glanced at George, who in turn was staring at me. I coughed, and he grinned.

"Do you like it?" He asked, running his hand fondly over the smooth glass. I nodded and looked back inside.

"What is it?" He grinned even broader, and twirled his wand, conjuring a top hat which he promptly placed on his head.

"This, my dear friend, is Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, my pride and joy! Welcome." And with that, he opened the large orange doors and pushed me into the chaos below.

* * *

The store was amazing. Smells of different candies and merchandise floated all around me, some of them visible, and small fireworks were whizzing merrily through my hair and the shelves. Potions were floating around _by themselves_ and knocking into my head, the letting out smoke which spelled out their properties right in front of me. Candy was littered allover the floor (and being eaten by small children), and older people, clearly staff, were running around in purple silk suits to try and tame the chaos. A voice that seemingly came from the air screamed at the people to try the new products, and robots that seemed increasingly life like were acting out their properties. Small, fluffy animals were bouncing around in sparkling cages, their colors ranging from red to chartreuse. Glittering, popping signs were drifting in the air, advertising love potions and acne removal serums, while other signs advertised noise-makers and puking pastilles. Children were laughing and screaming, and slightly older people were drifting towards the teen section (clearly marked with a large, never ending sparkler that announced the section). It was complete chaos, but I loved it. Suddenly, I was knocked over by a boy, and we both fell into the cages of the animals, causing protests from both the staff and the children.

"Sorry! Oh, dear. I'm sorry." I looked up. It was the boy who had crashed into me. He was thin, and slightly short for his age (which I guessed to be like me, 14) and had straight, black hair and bright green eyes. They were boring into me, clearly apologetic, so I smiled and took his outstretched hand. As he pulled me up, a girl came up behind him and groaned.

"Merlin, Albs, your such a clumsy oaf! Sorry about him," she said to me, pushing him out of the way and pulling me up herself. She had wavy, red hair and an overabundance of freckles, and was the tiniest bit chubby. We were all the same age, I realized. I smiled nervously at them, not sure what to say. Suddenly, I felt a hand clamp over my shoulder.

"I see you've met the locals already, Caroline." It was George. I sighed with relief.

"Uncle George!" The kids exclaimed, and hugged him, leaving me feeling awkward and alone. I looked down at the scattered animal cages, the contents of which were now screaming loudly.

"Albus, did you push her into the cages? That's mighty violent." I realized they were talking about me and looked up. Albus was blushing.

"No, James pushed me into her because he was trying the double gum thing and wanted to look at himself alone. Sorry," he said to me, shrugging. I smiled back.

"Where is that troublemaker anyway?" George asked, and the kids shrugged. "Reminds me of myself when I was that age..." he murmured, then clapped his hands, making us all jump. "Now where are my manners! Caro, these flobberworms are Albus Potter and Rose Weasley, my niece and nephew. Albus and Rose, this is the girl I am now the guardian of, Caroline Madson."

"Call me Cara," I said, shaking hands with each of them.

"I'm Albus and this is Ro," he grinned. Rose grabbed my hand, and I jumped.

"Uncle, may we show her around the shop?" she asked, but before he could answer she was already dragging me along the twisting hallways. "Your accent is quite interesting. Are you American?" I blushed. I could see Albus struggling to keep up with Rose's pace.

"Yah, is my voice that weird?"

"No, it's just distinctive. You must think the same about our accents," I nodded. Albus caught up to us and pulled Rose by the back of her sweater (which was a deep green that complimented her hair) which made us stop short. He was breathing heavily. After we waited for him to catch his breath, he sighed and leaned against the shelf.

"Merlin, stop walking so fast." he groaned, then slid down to a sitting position. Rose and I sat down also, across the aisle from him. Rose laughed at his red complexion.

"Get into shape, Albus, you have Quidditch to play."

"You know I'm not into that." He sighed, glaring at her. He turned to me. "Are you a muggle-born?"

"I guess. I don't really know what the slang is in your world." They both laughed at that, and I smiled in return. Albus leaned forward, flexing his feet inside his grey adidas.

"So what do you think so far?"

"It's...well, It's amazing," I gushed, laughing. Everything's so different, new... it's incredible." They grinned and Rose shifted her sitting position so that she was facing towards me in addition to Albus.

"What's it like being a muggle?"

"Boring."

"That's what my dad says!" exclaimed Albus, sitting up. "He was muggle born too, you know, he said it was like living without, like, hands. Or something. Like your missing a huge part of your life." I nodded.

"I haven't used magic yet, though," I admitted, looking at their wands enviously.

"Have you really not gotten your wand yet?" asked Rose, shocked. "Well you have to get one, don't you! C'mon, lets go ask Uncle George." Surprised, I got up with them and began weaving between the many shelves to where George was standing, clearly visible with his fiery hair.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the break! Here's chapter three, enjoy! As always, reviews are very much appreciated :)**

* * *

CHAPTER THREE

George agreed, immediately, with the idea, but stayed behind to look for "James", or whatever his name was. I was pulled along to a small, shabby looking shop at the end of the cobblestoned street, sporting a sagging banner that read:

 _Ollivanders_

 _South Side, Diagon Alley, London_

I turned to Albus, as Rose was already knocking on the peeling, purple door of the shop. "Who's Ollivander?" I asked, gesturing to the sign. He grinned, a fond expression on his face.

"He's our family friend," he said, pointing to Rose, who was peering through the window to see if there were any occupants inside. "He's really old, but he's still running this shop. He just won't die." After seeing my horrified expression, he blushed, and stammered, "I didn't mean that, it's just that he's like 97, and everyone's surprised by how old he is. Even so, hes still the best wand maker out there. He got me and Rose's wands, and our parents." He held up his wand, then as an afterthought, said, "James too."

"Who's James?" I asked, but as Albus opened his mouth to reply, Rose answered. She'd given up on the door.

"Albus' twat of a brother. He's completely insane, always pranking and being clumsy. Merlin knows how he plays Quidditch so well." Blushing, I said,

"Sorry for all the questions, but what's Quidditch? Everyone's talking about it. I think George told me it's a sport, but that's all I know." Both of their eyes lit up and they immediately began gushing about the game. I looked quizzically at Albus, as I thought he didn't like the sport, but then decided he just didn't like to _play_. I was so wrapped up in their explanation I didn't remember until they brought up their parents again that I hadn't met Ron at the joke shop. I looked wistfully over in the direction of the glowing building. Suddenly, the wooden door of the wand shop blew open, spreading dust in a hazy a cloud, and an overly aged man rolled out in a wheelchair. He was being pushed by a tired, slightly snobby looking boy with pale, almost white hair and silvery eyes. I locked eyes with him, staring, until Rose waved shyly at him. He blushed a pale pink and nodded at her. I looked at Albus, confused, but he just rolled his eyes affectionately, grinning at the pair of them.

"That's Scorpius." Said Albus before I could open my mouth to ask the question. "Rose has a huge crush on him, but mum and dad don't like him because of some tiff they had when they were kids." I look at Scorpius again, but he had already gone back into the shop, leaving the old man there. He had a cloud of whiteish-grey hair that seemed to spring out of his head, leathery pale skin, and a long thin mouth. Unnafected by his age, though, were his eyes, a bright, mercury silver that were in fact staring straight at me. I started, perturbed. He slowly wheeled himself out of the door frame, rolling sluggishly until he came to a stop before us. He shook Albus' and Rose's hands as he passed them on his path to me, all the while keeping eye contact.

"Well, my dear, is it a wand you seek? Great friends you have, yes, to lead you here, tired old man I am," Rose and Albus laughed warmly, heading inside the shope. It was just him and myself on the cobbled street. A gust of wind blew by, making me shiver. He gently clasped my hand, and I was shocked by how warm he was. "Ah, a muggle-born I see." He murmured, tracing his long pale fingers over my palm. I stiffened.

"How did you know?" I asked, trying but failing to relinquish his grip on my hand.

"The smell, the _feel_ of your hand; it has not yet had the pleasure of touching a wand." Rose blushed, and Albus outright laughed. "Come in, my dear," he murmured, ignoring them, "we shall see what wand chooses you. Ah, yes, what wand chooses you." He let go of my hand, then slowly took out his own wand and tapped the wheels of his chair. They crackled with silvery energy and rolled him, flashing and whirring, into the dusty depths of the shop. I gulped, then followed Rose and Albus through the door.

* * *

Inside was chaos. There were rows upon rows of grey shelves, once black, but with such a heavy coating of dirt and dust that they had lost their original sheen. Stacks of wands were tumbling, seemingly held up by magic (which they probably were) from the shelves. There were boxes of them laying haphazardly around the dank floor, crowding the walls and taking up the sole spindly stool that was standing in the center of the room. Light was shining though whatever pieces of window that weren't blocked by a curtain, further illuminating the swirling dust that I could already feel coating my skin. Scorpius, Albus, and Rose were talking quietly in a corner, and as I turned towards them, I felt a prod in my back. It was the old man.

"Come, sit. SCORPIUS!" The boy jumped. "Clear away those wand boxes." He complied, begrudgingly, his nose high in the air. Albus scoffed. "My dear, come sit, hmm? I must make some measurements." I sat down in the chair, flushed. Everyone was watching me expectantly. Suddenly, I felt something slither down my leg. I leaped out of the stool, knocking it over. There was an affronted looking tape measure, floating unsupported in the air, clicking expectantly. "Wha-"

"No, _no,_ dear, I'm measuring you. Do, actually, stand, It's much easier, much." Ollivander said, tutting like an overgrown chicken. I quickly righted the stool and then stood, waiting. The tape measure slid over my libs, making my shiver.

"ahh... waist, 20... Scorpius, are you writing this down?" Scorpius nodded, clearly doing the opposite. Ollivander made a few more measurements, then flicked his wand. The tape measure, which had been measuring my hair width, coiled up in the middle of the air, then fell in a small explosion of dust onto the floor. "Scorpius!" The boy slouched over to the old man, scowling. Ollivander whispered some things into his ear. Scorpius nodded then disappeared into the towering shelves of wands. I stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, feeling the eyes of Ollivander prodding into my back. I looked beseechingly at Rose and Albus, and they came over.

"Odd fellow, isn't he?" grinned Albus, sticking his hands into his pockets. Rose glared at him.

"He's the best wandmaker in all of Britain, Albus, please." Scorpius came back from the shelves, carrying a multitude of boxes in his arms. I looked at Rose, who was watching him.

"Why doesn't he use his wand to carry them?"

"Oh! Uh," she blushed, tucking her hair behind her ear (she had taken it out of it's ponytail and it was springing over her shoulders), "Well, we're underage, you see, so it's against the law for us to use magic outside of school grounds. I nodded, disappointment sinking like a rock in my stomach.

"Bugger, right?" sighed Albus, pulling his own wand out of his pocket. "Four more years." I frowned.

"Don't you mean five? We become adults at 18."

"In the wizarding world, it's seventeen," said Rose kindly. I nodded.

"Caroline!" _How did Ollivander know my name?_ I walked over to him. He handed me a wand, long and thin, with a white wood pattern encircling it. Ollivander beamed at it, like a proud father. "Birch and Oak, dragon heart string, 14 inches." He sighed, gazing at it. "Go on, then, give it a _flick._ " I raised the wand, about to flick it, but he snatched it back. "Oh no, certainly no." he muttered, then pulled out another wand. "Not as fancy as the other one, but that was a new wand. The new ones have patterns." The wand he handed me was shorter than the other, and simple, cherry-red and straight as a rod. "11 inches, black cherry wood with unicorn hair, slightly bendy." I waved it, but nothing happened.

At least half and hour went by, none of the wands working for me. Scorpius had to keep on running back into the shelves to pull out more wands. Finally, Ollivander let out a cry. We all looked at him, even Albus and Rose who had almost fallen asleep in the corner. "This, this is _it_ , my dear!" He beamed, flourishing a wand. I took it, staring. It was a deep black, almost blue (but under different lighting, red), and twisted like driftwood. The tip of the wand was fragile, thin, and as I held it, it began to pulse slowly. "African blackwood," murmured Ollivander, his eyes bright. " a very special wand, yes, but for a very special girl." I blushed. The wand was still pulsing. "13 inches and unicorn tail hair. Well, now, give it a flick." I did.

* * *

We were standing outside of the remains shop, waiting for the ministry to come. Behind us, _Ollivander's_ lay in ruins, smoke creating an angry cloud around the scene. The wand boxes, though, were mysteriously unharmed. Olivander was still babbling, as he had been for an hour, about what a good match my new wand and I were. Scorpius had to keep on putting him back in his chair for the fear that he get up and start dancing.

"Her _power_ , that wand...such a good combination, such..." I blushed. I was still gripping the wand in my hand. I felt awful. I had just blown up his shop. Rose and Albus were staring at me, a little bit of fear mixed into their shocked expressions. Albus had tried to laugh it off, and Rose had tried to analyze the situation, but I had felt so guilty they quickly stopped and left me in silence. Suddenly, two figures came running, both dressed in identical maroon suits. I recognized one as George. The other one had the same red hair, but I had never seen him before. Rose jumped up from where she had been sitting and ran towards the mysterious man.

"Dad! The shop blew up!"

"Well I can bloody well see that, Rosy," he grinned, stopping. I gaped at him. _This was Ron?_ I was slightly disappointed to be honest. He was sweating, gangly, and had dad-body, not at all like the celebrity I had imagined. I felt a tap on my shoulder and looked up. It was George.

"That's Ronnikins, as you were wondering. But more importantly, what happened here?" I blushed a deep magenta, almost like the color of his suit.

"Well, I was, um, trying out wands," I held up the one I was holding. "Then when I was using this one... The building blew up." His eyes lit up, and his face cracked into an easy grin.

"You did this? That's amazing! Blowing up Ollivanders... I think I tried that once! How did you do it? And you did it so well!" He rambled, beaming proudly at me and then the small explosion. I stared at him.

"I just waved the wand...I guess?"

"If we had you back in our Hogwarts days... McGonagall would be whooping our asses! Even more than she did back then. And Filch..." I stared at him, confused. Suddenly, he seemed to regain his adulthood and turned to me. "I forgot, are you hurt?" I shook my head.

"The ministry, I think that's what it's called, will be here soon to fix everything up." I said, pointing to the wreckage. "None of the wands were hurt." George smiled, then apologized to Ollivander, who was too euphoric over my wand to notice anything. "Ron, close up the shop!" cried George, throwing a sparkling set of fluorescent keys to Ron. "I'll take the kids home." Ron rolled his eyes, but started walking back towards the shop. George grabbed Albus, Rose, and myself by our arms and grinned. "Quite an eventful day, no?" he asked. We all nodded. I looked back to the shop, where Scorpius was standing forlornly next to the babbling Ollivander. He raised a hand to wave at me, and I waved back. I felt a nudge, and turned. Rose was grinning mischievously.

"Have you ever apparated before?" she asked, her eyes bright.

"Appara- what?"

"Just don't throw up on me."

"I-what?!" And with that, George turned and dissapeared, taking all of us with him.


End file.
